The Assassination of Ronald Weasley
by redandorange10
Summary: The assassination of Ronald Weasley sends Harry and Hermione on a mission for vengeance, if they can escape the paparazzi long enough. A PostHogwarts story.
1. The Scream

Disclaimer: The Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just take advantage of the characters.

Summary: The assassination of Ronald Weasley sends Harry and Hermione on a mission for vengeance, if they can escape the paparazzi long enough. A Post-Hogwarts story.

Looking back on it, Hermione told herself she should have known it would happen. It was high-profile event, large crowds. There should have been more protection, more wizards on the lookout. If six years at Hogwarts and one year of traveling around the continent had taught her anything, shouldn't it have been constant vigilance?

The night had not been a usual one to begin with. She and her husband of almost two years, Ron Weasley, were attending the opening of a theater. She, Ron and Harry were often invited to these gala events, and they accepted only as often as to not appear rude. They should have been used to fame by now, but none of them were. They were war heroes. The wizarding world loved them and would honor their names forever. Hermione had lost count of the number of letters they'd received about wizard babies being given the middle name of "Harry," "Ron," or "Hermione." They were touched, but somehow, after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, all they wanted was an anonymous life and to enjoy that life together.

Every day, one of their names was in the headlines. Sometimes the stories were true, like when Ron flew into a jealous rage at a man who had proclaimed his love for Hermione while they were entering their flat in London. Some were false, like the numerous times the magazines had reported that Hermione had been seen buying a pregnancy test. After the sixth time, they stopped writing to request that the story be withdrawn.

Hermione sat in front of her bureau mirror, dressing her hair for the theater's opening. Her anger was well veiled under her calm face. Ron had been taking money out of their Gringotts's account again, and she had no idea where it was going. They made a lot of money as war heroes, speaking at functions, writing articles. Much of their earnings were donated to charity, but they still lived well. Their marriage was a happy one, if a little passionless. They fell into an easy relationship after Voldemort's defeat, and while their wedding had been a small affair, it had been the biggest story that year.

She sighed. She was too tired to spend the night sitting in a box seat next to a man she was angry at, smiling for photographers.

She trusted Ron, however, and reassured herself that everything would fall into place in the end. It always did.

Hermione stood up and adjusted her cream-colored, silk robes. They had been a gift from Ron on their honeymoon, and he liked to see her wear them to these functions. Just as she was thinking of him, he came in through their bedroom door.

"Hullo," he said.

"Hello." She greeted him without smiling. He took this in and, tucking something under his arm, walked over and stood behind her. They looked nice together. Her white robes, and his black ones.

"I have something for you," Ron said and showed her a purple velvet jewelry case.

"Oh, Ron, you shouldn't have," she whispered, and meant it.

"Well, I wanted to," he sounded a little put off. "Open it."

Hermione accepted the large, rectangular box and lifted the cover with a creak. Inside lay a pearl necklace, perfectly laid out. She parted her lips to thank him when she noticed that each pearl, a little larger than she had seen before, had a peculiar purple translucent sheen to them. They were unlike any she had ever seen before, and wondered for a moment if Ron was trying to pass these off as real pearls. She was ashamed of herself for even thinking this, and quickly pushed the thought out of her head.

"Ron, they're magnificent, I don't deserve them!" She rewarded him with a small kiss.

"Yes, you do, and more!"

"They have an usual color to them," Hermione said carefully.

"They're, uh, French," Ron said, blushing, which sounded forced even to him.

Hermione let a minute of quiet go by before she spoke, putting the box on her dresser.

"Well, thank you, Ron. I'll treasure them."

"Aren't you going to wear them?"

"I was going to wear the ruby Harry gave me," she replied, reaching for her jewelry box.

Ron's face drained of color, and he reached over and shut the purple jewelry box violently. "Of course, I should have known. On a night like this, why wear pearls from Ron?"

"Ron-" Hermione started, but he had already left the room.

She didn't know if it was jealousy, inadequacy, or something else that made Ron act the way he did. She knew he was weary of Harry, which may have been understandable with half the tabloids reporting secret rendezvous between Harry and his wife. Still, she was hurt he didn't trust her.

Hermione put the pearls on, and they didn't look so bad with her robes. She looked longing at the ruby Harry gave her on her wedding day. The harsh words from Ron had spoiled the pearls.

Ron was waiting for her in the living room of their flat, sitting on the edge of an armchair. He spoke first.

"They look nice on you." But Hermione was not to be distracted.

"Look, don't you trust me at all?" Ron was silent, but he sighed.

"Of course I do, Hermione, but you're my whole world!"

He waited for some sort of reply, for her to tell him she loved him, but none came, "It doesn't matter," he said, angry again. With a pop, he apparated to the lobby of the theater; Hermione left a second after him.

They had avoided much of the crowd by arriving in the lobby, but there were still some reporters and photographers there. They rushed Ron and Hermione immediately, and they stepped together, and smiled, instinctively.

"Yes, we're very happy with how the theater looks."

"Yes, we're looking forward to the play tonight."

"Yes, we still have plans for a second honeymoon, as soon as we have time."

"No, Harry will not be joining us tonight."

After a few more minutes, an usher appeared to take them to their box seats. They were joined with a few other people, but Hermione was watching everyone else get settled in below. She saw Neville Longbottom and tried to catch his eye, but he was too busy guiding his grandmother to her seat. She also saw Padma Patil, who waved, and Lavender Brown, who pretended not to see her. Hermione felt a small wave of guilt, but told herself she couldn't be responsible for the world. Just because she and Ron were the only ones there when Harry sent the Killing Curse at Voldemort… Everyone had done something to get him there. Even that dolt, Lavender.

Hermione snuck a peek at Ron to make sure he hadn't noticed Lavender. He looked back at Hermione.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"It doesn't matter," she echoed coolly, and Ron, realizing her would not get a friendly word from her tonight, stood up and left.

When he returned, the lights had dimmed. Wizard plays were not so different from Muggle ones, except that the sound was cast around the room in a way that made the actors sound as if they were all around you. This particular play was newly written, and took place during the war that, in reality, had just ended. It was a sad tale of death and unrequited love, and Hermione had been sure to bring a handkerchief in her purse.

The climax of the play was coming. Marguerite, the heroine, has just been told that the man she loved was killed before she had a chance to tell him she cared for him. Hermione was on the edge of her seat. There were a few moment of silence, and there wasn't a sound in the entire theater, not even a sob. Suddenly, Marguerite screamed, and at that exact moment Hermione saw a tremendous white light and was thrown backwards with the force of an explosion. The theater burst into pandemonium with the noise of whatever had just happened, but Hermione heard none of it; her eyes were open but she couldn't hear, smell, or focus on anything. She slowly became aware of people moving around her, and she sat up. Ron, she though, where's Ron?

Hermione was near the back wall of the box, but she saw Ron's bright red hair, his head, on the floor where they had been sitting. Someone helped her up, she didn't see whom, and she tripped and stumbled over to him. Falling to her knees where he lay, she took one look at his face and knew Ron was dead.

She stared for what must have been ages until someone pulled her away from him. Another woman leaned over Ron and started speaking to him_. Doesn't she know he's dead_, Hermione thought? She still couldn't feel anything, but was aware someone was treating her for burns around her collarbone, chest and shoulders. Her hair was singed in places as well. Completely in shock, she had no idea what had just happened, and could barely take in that the world as she knew it had just changed.

Somehow, Hermione ended up at the Ministry of Magic, wrapped in a blanket in her burnt and torn robes. She sat in front of a man who kept offering her coffee, or fire-whisky if she promised not to tell anyone. She couldn't utter a word, for once, and images came and went before her as if she was watching a slide show.

"Mrs. Weasley, please, we know you're in shock but we're trying to find whoever did this."

No response.

"Do you know what curse this could have been?"

No response.

"Please think, did your husband have any enemies?"

Some time into the night, Hermione eventually began to feel the burns on her body, and started to wonder where Ron was. She cleared her throat, and the man who had been sitting with her looked up.

"Wh-" She cleared her throat again, "Plea- wh- his-" But she couldn't get any further. As the word moved further up her throat, tears pushed it back down. She shook her head, frustrated, as the tears started to run and won over speaking. She put her shaking hands against her face, and sat perfectly still in silent sobs.

"-Ermione! Hermione, I'm here," someone called her from down the hall. "I'm here!"

She moved her hands down to cover her mouth as Harry Potter materialized in front of her, out of breath from a long run. He pulled her up from her seat and embraced her so they could both cry with the comfort of knowing that, while a part of each of them had died tonight, not all was lost.


	2. The Circle

Hermione dreamt of pleasant things, or, at least, they began pleasantly.

That night, she dreamt of her wedding day, one of the happier days in her life. She was looking at herself in the mirror, pleased with her reflection. She was studying the elbow-length gloves, the double-strand of pearls at her neck. She was smelling the stalks of lavender in her bouquet.

It was the lavender that woke her up. It smelled so heavy that when she opened her eyes from sleep she could have sworn the sheets were pressing down on her.

It was the first time she had woken up at The Burrow in many years. Harry had guided her out to the streets in the cold night air, out of the Ministry, and had brought her to the Weasley home. She had no idea what had happened after that, but, as she sat up on the bed, she realized the last thing she wanted to do was go downstairs and see her family-in-law.

Hermione was in one of the older Weasley's room, likely Charlie's based on the books around the room and photos of dragons. She held her head in her hands. _How am I supposed to do this? How do I get through this? _

She listened for any noise in the house, but, for once, it seemed at peace. Not even the ghoul was making noise. She heard a door open and close, and the noise was magnified by the quiet. It hurt her head, and she wondered if someone had given her a sleeping pill. There was a soft knock at the door, and long red hair followed by a pale, freckled face appeared. It was Ginny Weasley, the maid-of-honor at her wedding, and Hermione smelled lavender again.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny whispered, and Hermione didn't know if she meant for waking her, or for what had happened just last night.

Hermione tried to find her voice, but it hadn't yet returned. There didn't seem to be anything to say, anyway. Ginny timidly walked over to her and embraced her. If she cried, she did so quietly. She left after a minute and returned with some clothes for Hermione. After she had dressed, she met Ginny at the top of the stairs and made her way down, dreading having to see them all.

All of the Weasleys were there - Arthur, Molly, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Penelope, Fred, George, and now Ginny - all but one. Molly sat with her head in her hands, Arthur helplessly rubbing her back. Fred and George sat expressionlessly on a loveseat, Percy, holding Penelope's hand, stood behind them. Charlie stood by the back door, every once and awhile wiped a tear off his cheek.

Hermione thought about how strange a scene it was, she had almost never seen anything like it. The family she had watched bravely march through the darkest time the world had ever seen, they looked so defeated now.

The back door opened and they all looked up to see a miserable looking Harry walk through it inside. Molly seemed shaken from her state with the arrival of Ginny, Hermione, and Harry. She looked at Hermione especially, and tried to wipe the path of tears off.

"Oh, you poor dear," she sniffed, "It is one thing to loose a child-" She stopped again, cut off by a sob. Arthur patted her should reassuringly.

"It is something else entirely to loose a life-partner." With that, she opened her arms to Hermione. With a small hesitation, she strode over and put her face on Molly's shoulder, her tears released for the second time. This seemed to remind everyone else in the room about how they should be feeling, and soon, the whole room was filled with the sound of sobbing, sniffling, and weeping.

No one seemed to pay attention to how much time passed, but eventually, Penelope and Fleur went off to make tea, and Hermione found her voice.

"He wouldn't have wanted this," she said to no one in particular, "All this carrying on."

Molly sat back and leaned on Arthur.

"Ron made it clear how he wanted to be-" Hermione paused, "…laid to rest. I suppose we can do it as soon as the wizards at Criminology are done."

The Weasleys received many visitors that day, most bringing food for the grieving family. Several owls came with letters for Hermione, as the investigating wizards wanted to ask her more questions. She eventually replied that she'd come later that day, to pick up Ron's ashes. Harry asked to accompany her, and she accepted gratefully.

When they arrived at the Ministry of Magic, a man who had apparently been with Hermione last night greeted them. She didn't remember him, but he introduced himself as Leonard Toll. Harry and Hermione sat stoically in front of him in a quiet office. Every once and awhile, and owl would fly in or a quill would rise up and jot down a note. Otherwise, it was very still.

"We believe it was a simple cure that killed your husband, a simple but powerful curse. The wizards in criminology are thinking it's related to the Killing Curse, but it seems to be unknown at this point."

Leonard paused, and then said kindly, "He likely suffered no pain at all…"

Harry looked up sharply as if to remind him that their friend had _died_, and what did he know? But he looked sideways at Hermione and then decided against it.

Leonard changed topics. "Can I ask you to tell me what you remember about the curse?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Just a bright, white light, being thrown back. Disorientation."

"Is…that all?"

She tried harder, reached back further to all the curses she had encountered in her life. There were a lot. "The light was, well, it didn't surround me as you expect it would. It seemed to form a wall in front of me. The force that pushed me back with was stronger than Expelliarmus, but not so strong as to break bones…"

She hesitated and Harry reached to take her hand.

"What I don't understand is how this curse killed Ron, and yet it didn't really hurt me?"

"We don't know that quite yet ourselves, Mrs. Weasley. But the Mediwizards have everything they need, so you are free to take your husbands ashes back home with you."

Leonard left the office for a moment and returned with a smallish blue urn. He held it out in the direction of Hermione, but she looked away. Harry stepped forward and received it. They turned to leave the office, but Leonard stopped them.

"One last thing I forgot – do you mind if I see your burns again, Mrs. Weasley?"

Hermione blushed, but pulled on the corner of her blouse slightly to reveal her shoulder and collorbone. Leonard studied them for a moment, made a note on a piece of paper, and thanked her.

"Anything significant?" Harry asked.

"Just the position of the burns," Leonard replied, "But it could be nothing."

Padma and Parvati Patil were at the Burrow when Harry and Hermione got back. He sat down with them, but Hermione immediately took the urn upstairs with her. She viewed the rest of the day from the window, watching the breeze ruffle the tree branches and the sun set. Harry came to get her when it was time for Ron's funeral. Despite the short notice, there were dozens of people gathered in the Weasley's backyard. Hermione somehow wished it could be a little more private, but she was still pleased that so many had come to remember Ron. It was pitch black, but someone had levitated a few candles around the backyard.

The Weasley family gathered in a circle around the urn. Arthur, first, stepped inside the circle, whispered a few words, then kissed the top of the urn. Molly stepped in and did the same, followed by Bill, Charley, Ginny, Fred, George, Percy, and finally Harry and Hermione. Then the ten pointed their wands at the urn, and slowly raised it above the ground, then higher up and over their heads.

Hermione watched what was left of her husband, her partner, float away from her into the night sky. With her free hand, she wiped tears from her face.

Just when it seemed the urn had disappeared, it exploded into a single firework, a solitary burst of light that spread into a million sparkles and then faded away.

Her wand arm still raised, Hermione looked across the circle at Harry and found he was looking at her. For a moment, the firework illuminated his face; it made the line of tears stand out on his face. He slowly lowered his arm, still watching her, and then walked across the circle to embrace her.

The ceremony having ended, people ate and talked in small groups. Hermione wanted to go back inside, but Harry convinced her to stay. A few people stood to say a few words about Ron. Neville. Arthur. Molly. Headmistress McGonagall. Seamus. Percy. Fred and George. Finally, Harry. Hermione only listened to them halfway, still not quite believing where she was. The weight of everything didn't hit her until Ginny took the stage to sing a song.

She wore black dress robes, like everyone else. Hermione vaguely remembered hearing the song before, she was pretty sure it had Muggle origins.

"I was standing by my window  
One cold and cloudy day  
When I saw that  
Hearse come rolling  
To carry my brother away.

Will the circle by unbroken  
By and by, Lord, by and by  
There's a better home waiting  
In the sky, Lord, in the sky."

Everyone who had come to say goodbye to Ron gradually rose and left, leaving just the Weasleys and Harry.

Harry and Hermione sat away from the others, Hermione still reeling from Ginny's song. As it got later, the wind began to pick up, and Harry suggested they move inside. She stood and looked to the sky.

"Do you know what my last words were to him, Harry?"

He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter." She hung her head. "Those were the last words Ron ever heard me say. It doesn't matter."

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and said firmly, "He knew it mattered, Hermione, he knew how much you loved him. Love him. Ron could never doubt that."

All she could do in reply was shake her head.


	3. The Tile

Two weeks later. Hermione waves her wand absentmindedly over her butterbeer to warm it up. It's overcast, and she's agreed to meet Harry for lunch on the other side of town. He said he had a surprise for her.

Hermione had seen a lot of him since Ron's death; it seemed very natural. The only bad thing about it was the press, as usual. Bloodthirsty for more gossip, since it quickly got old trying to guess Ron's murderer, Hermione was used to seeing her face splashed across every newspaper. Some of the headlines were ridiculous, while others were just plain boring. It disturbed the Weasleys more than it did Hermione, who was used to it.

They still had no leads or any more clues to find Ron's murderer. There had been so many wizards in the building that night that the magic was all mixed up.

Harry comes in with a smile on his face, kisses her cheek and sits down. Hermione is happy to finally see him smiling; she had been wondering if he'd recover at all from the blow of losing his best friend in such a cruel act of violence.

"How are you, Harry?"

"A little better, I guess. I don't know," his smile fades for a moment, "But how are you?"

"Don't make me wait! Tell me what's put a smile on your face."

Harry reaches for her butterbeer and sips at it. "How would you like to get out of town?"

Hermione can barely contain her glee, before her grin fails. "Oh, I'd love to. But how could we leave the Weasleys? Don't they need us? And what about the investigation?"

"I've thought about that, too, but we're going to pieces here! And we'd think more clearly, away from the city. Besides, the Weasleys could come, too, if they want. It's a large cabin-" Harry covered his mouth quickly and blushed.

"Cabin?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"Is there a lake?"

"…Yes, but no more details!"

Hermione knew she wanted nothing more than to leave this city and recover out in the countryside with Harry. Everywhere was filled with memories of Ron. When she went into to the backyard of the Burrow, all she could think about was the fact that Ron's ashes were covering the ground. It didn't seem like the brave thing to do, but she hadn't even been back to their flat, yet. She knew that once she got back inside, she'd feel all the resentment, love, and regret come back.

When she looked at Harry, she could still see Ron in him. Their camaraderie, their childishness and adventures all shone out of his eyes. Hermione had known Ron and Harry the exact same amount of time, almost down to the second, and she loved Harry just as much as she loved Ron. Sometimes she wondered how she'd married one and not the other. While this wouldn't seem to say much about Ron, it was just the opposite. He'd just come to take that place in her heart.

She looked up to find Harry watching her intently – her butterbeer tankard was empty.

"What were you thinking about?"

"The first time I met you and Ron. On the train."

"Bossy brainiac," Harry remembered fondly.

"Naïve four-eyes," she replied with just as much affection.

After a pause, he added, "I'm glad you don't mind talking about him."

"I do, a little. Just ignore me if I burst out in random tears."

"Likewise."

Hermione sighed. "I hope this gets easier."

"It will. I promise."

"You owe me a butterbeer."

"Dually noted."

Harry and Hermione walked for a half hour on the sidewalks before stopping to sit on a bench.

"Before we go back, I should probably visit our flat and get that over with."

"What, you mean, you haven't gone back yet?"

"No. Harry, you've been with me these two weeks, of course I haven't gone back yet!"

"I guess I assumed…"

"Well, would you like to come help me? I guess I should go through some of his things. Can't imagine what I'm going to do with anything, but it's been a few weeks so I imagine the ice chest is a delightful mess."

"I'd take the fridge over going through my dead best friend's things any day of the year," Harry said morbidly. Hermione was silent.

"Sorry," he said eventually.

"No need to be. I was wondering where scary, angry Harry had gone to."

"Bad as it sounds, I guess it's easier knowing that you're hurting as much as I am this time," Harry took her hand reassuringly.

"That's fair. There's an up-side to knowing you have to be strong for someone else."

"So – shall we move on to your flat and start the really painful part?"

"Lovely."

The first problem presented itself in the piles of mail they found around their apartment when they apparated in. Charms around the place kept the really evil ones out, fortunately, and Harry offered to start sorting the good from the bad. It would take him awhile.

Hermione looked around. There were still piles of clean dishes waiting to be put away on the kitchen counter. Some mail was opened on the table. In the living room was a wineglass on a marble coffee table.

And the bedroom.

The bed was unmade. Hermione couldn't look at the indentation on Ron's pillow. The purple jewelry box was still open on her bureau. It was only now that Hermione remembered the pearls. _Where are they?_ She ran her hands across his shirts and robes in his closet. Pushed her fingers through his silk ties. Sat on his side of the bed and remembered the nights when arguments would keep her lying awake. _If he were here right now, what would we be doing?_

Harry found her sitting in silence with a blue tie in her hands.

"I've changed my mind, Harry. Let's just keep things the way they are, not move anything around."

"As you wish. The ice chest is clean, by the way."

Hermione was puzzled. "How long have I been sitting here?"

Harry checked his watch. "Awhile, actually. We should eat dinner soon."

"I'm not hungry, are you?"

"Nah. Haven't been eating much at all. Come to think of it, when was the last time I was at my flat?" They shared a weak smile.

"Can I make a suggestion? You may not like it," he warned.

"Suggest away."

"Would you mind looking around? You know, for something that might give us any ideas as to why…"

"Or who," Hermione finished. "Sure we could, but I doubt we'll find anything that I haven't seen before."

"Have you ever checked around for Concealing charms?"

"No, to be honest. You know Ron, he's kind of an open book." Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to use the past tense, especially when she was teasing Ron.

"Why don't we start there?"

Almost immediately, Harry discovered a small, Concealed package, levitated at the top corner of his closet. He handed it to a bewildered Hermione to open.

"Are you sure I should…?"

"It seems like an obvious place to hide something, Ron had to have known you would find it. To tell the truth, I bet he thought you'd find it a lot sooner. Besides, it could be important."

Swayed, Hermione took off the brown paper wrapped around an old shoebox. She had no idea what to expect, but she wasn't prepared for it's simple content. The first thing she saw was a magic, moving picture of herself in first year. A self-conscious, eleven-year-old Hermione tucked pieces of frizzing hair behind her ear while smiling uncertainly. She turned it over_. "Hermione,"_ it said in Ron's scrawl.

She had just enough time to shove it into Harry's hand before stumbling to her bathroom to vomit.

A half-hour later found Harry and Hermione sitting on the cool tiles of the bathroom. Harry had rubbed her back while she emptied her pain and guilt into the toilet. She asked him to bring the box to her - she was more prepared now. There were a few more photos underneath the one of her, as well as some mementos. There were several photos of the three of them – one in front of Hagrid's hut, another by the lake at Hogwarts, another in Ron's room at the Burrow. They looked to be taken by Ginny. There was a picture from their wedding at the Burrow that Hermione had never seen before – she and Ron just after they'd said their vows, and just before they'd kissed: a strange sense of anticipation and happiness. Harry was as absorbed in the memories as Hermione, handling each photo gently.

There was a lock of Hermione's hair, which she'd given him in a Christmas card. There was a roll of parchment, a homework assignment of Ron's that Hermione had meticulously proofread. _"You're a dolt, but I love you anyway,"_ Hermione had written jokingly near the bottom. There was a scrap of paper naming the song they had danced to as teenagers at Bill and Fleur's wedding. There was a solitary dried and pressed flower, an orchid.

Harry held it up and asked where it was from.

"His wedding boutonniere."

"And how about this," he asks, holding a cork.

"From the champagne on the night we, uh…"

"Say no more. I don't want to know!"

"It was our first time."

"I said I didn't want to know!"

"Sure you do, you're curious."

"I'm really not."

"When was your first time?"

"I'll leave."

"You wouldn't dare. Anyway, I think we're through most of this. Want me to make you something to eat?"

"Please. Mind if I put some music on?"

"I'd rather you didn't – Ron picked most of our music, and I'm not too sure if I'm ready for it. He always had some on."

It's very quiet in the kitchen. Harry sits at the table and watches her move around the kitchen. With everything in the ice chest spoiled, there's little choice for dinner. The heels of her shoes make a distinct noise on the tiles.

After a few minutes, Harry suddenly stands up and stops Hermione.

"Do you hear that, Hermione?"

"What? I don't hear anything."

"Walk around again." Hermione obeys and retraces the same steps. There's a very faint difference in sound when she steps on a certain tile. Then lean down at the same time and examine it; Hermione uses her wand to levitate it, separating it from the surrounding tiles. There's empty space underneath - and a plastic baggie filled with letters.

"He didn't put a Concealing charm on this," Harry determines, "Which made it all the more difficult to find."

"And I don't recognize that writing."


	4. The Letters

A/N: This chapter is gratefully dedicated to La Suede, Holy Pancake, NaughtyBunny and jitterbug393.

Neither Harry nor Hermione wanted to reach into the space to remove the letters. Harry looked up at her and saw she had no color to her face at all.

"Maybe they're here from a previous owner."

"Maybe," she replied, but he could tell she didn't believe him. Hermione reached down slowly and pulled the baggie out – through the plastic she could see they were addressed to Ron, his name written in slate grey ink. Harry gently took them out of her hands and waved his wand over the bag – nothing happened.

"They seem to be safe, no dark magic. Want me to open them?"

"No, I will," she said fiercely. Hermione was suddenly struck by anger towards her late husband. Ron was someone she thought she had known inside and out, and yet here she was, discovering one thing after another that had been kept from her. Wordlessly, she opened the baggie and removed the stack of letters. The pile was easily thicker than _Hogwarts: A History_, she noted. Some letters were wrinkled as if they had been crumpled up and then smoothed back out. Some were crisp; some had stains all over them. There were so many, and Hermione had no idea who they may have been from. They style of writing changed from one letter to the next, but there were all written in grey ink.

Anxiously, Hermione picked up the letter on the top of the stack, and opened it.

"I WILL KILL HER," was written in large letters.

Without bothering to pass it to Harry, she picked up the second one.

"HERMIONE JANE GRANGER IS DEAD," it read.

The third, "I WILL KILL HERMIONE IN FRONT OF YOU."

"HERMIONE WILL BLEED."

"I'M GOING TO MURDER HER WHILE YOU WATCH."

"YOU WILL HEAR HER SCREAM AGAIN."

"LOOK AT HERMIONE JANE DIE."

One after another, she opened the letters, Harry desperately trying to keep up. Hermione had no energy left to cry or get hysterical: she could only open letters. She reached that last one. "I'M GOING TO TAKE AWAY YOUR WHOLE WORLD."

They sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by open letters. Despite her frenzy, Harry noted, she had remembered to place them in a circle so she knew what order they went in. But that was Hermione: always logical even under immense pressure. As soon as she finished, Harry told her to pick them back up and get her coat.

"Why? I don't want to go anywhere, Harry, what are you talking about?"

"You're not staying here, are you kidding? This person could be watching us right now! You're coming back with me to my place."

Hermione couldn't help but look around, as if expecting to see someone. She was covered in goose bumps. "But there are dozens of charms and spells around our flat!"

"Well I'm not taking the time to check them all - they couldn't keep these letters out!"

"Then we'd better not apparate out, if you're worried. Can we walk to your flat?"

"Yes, let's just get out of here."

Harry picked up the letters, letting out a little shudder when Hermione had left the room. He was chilled to the bone that anyone could wish Hermione harm, let alone terrorize Ron about killing her!

Hermione came back in with a coat on and an overnight bag. When she tucked the letters in her bag, Harry saw the corner of the shoebox poking out.

He put a protective arm around her as they left, locking the door for her. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them right around the corner.

Harry and Hermione took one last look at the letters before he insisted that she sleep. When she argued that she wouldn't sleep anyway, that she'd rather try to begin piecing things together, he refused to listen and led her to his bedroom. He left while she changed into her nightclothes, and returned with a glass bottle in his hands.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I'll transfigure the couch. I am a wizard, you know."

"Oh, right."

He handed a green bottle to her: Dreamless Sleep potion. She didn't ask why he had it. "One big gulp," he said, "We'll figure this out in the morning."

An exhausted Hermione didn't argue, but threw back a mouthful. She embraced him tightly, whispering, "I'm so grateful…" Harry didn't hear what it was she was grateful for, as she instantly fell asleep in his arms. The potion was potent. He laid her back down, tucking the white sheets around her.

Harry turned down the lights then reached into Hermione's bag to pull out the shoebox. He procured an armchair out of this air, and opened the door a crack so he could hear any noises in the rest of the flat. Harry sat there all night, alternately listening to Hermione and looking at the objects in the shoebox.

One photo caught his eye in particular, of Hermione and Ginny, taken during one of their summers together. It had actually been Harry's photo, given to him by Mrs. Weasley in a large stack after a summer spent at the Burrow. Hermione and Ginny had been sunbathing, and were obviously interrupted by one of the Weasleys. They sat on the grass giggling in their swimsuits, waving out from the photo embarrassedly. Ron had seen it sometime during the following school year, and had tried not to show his interest in it.

"Hey, Harry, you don't want this photo do you?" Ron had waved it around so as not to let Harry see exactly what the picture was of.

"What, Ginny and Hermione?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Harry had looked up confused. "No, not really. But why do you want it?"

"I don't," Ron had said quickly, turning red, "But, you know, uh, school project."

Harry had never heard of any such project. However, he was getting an idea as to why Ron might want the picture.

"Well, it's yours, mate," and had then dropped the subject.

Harry let a tear fall silently, remembering Ron's red ears. He looked from the pretty, smiling Hermione in the picture to the wane, pale Hermione in his bed, and let another tear fall – in memoriam of both his friends.

Harry didn't sleep a wink that night, preferring to listen for any movement in the flat. He rose when the sun came up, before Hermione had woken, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. She joined him within the hour, carrying the letters and shoebox with her. He kissed her temple in greeting.

"Sleep okay?"

"Yes, no dreams. That potion was strong."

"Well, you're really only supposed to take a small sip of it, but I wanted to make sure you got some rest."

Hermione made a face at his concern. "How did you sleep? Have enough energy to transfigure the couch?"

"Yes, I got some rest."

"Well, you don't look it." She thanked him for the coffee, and asked if the _Daily Prophet_ had arrived yet. Harry picked it up from the counter, glanced at the headlines, and passed it to Hermione.

Abruptly, Harry snatched it back out of her hand before she could even glance at it.

"Harry-!"

He stood up with it in his hands, his face draining of color. Hermione caught a few choice words muttered under his breath.

"Harry, what is it? Is it about Ron, do they have a lead?"

"No, it's not about Ron," he said coldly, "You don't want to read this, Hermione."

Swiftly, Hermione said, "Accio!" The newspaper flew out of Harry's hands and into hers.

"WEASLEY WIDOW SPENDS NIGHT AT POTTER'S," the newspaper headline screamed. Hermione paled just as quickly as Harry had, as she looked at the accompanying photos: Harry with his hand over Hermione's in the café, sitting on the bench in the park, exiting her flat with his arm around her and then entering his flat. They had, indeed, had someone tailing them all day, someone who had probably made a good pile of Galleons for these pictures.

Hermione threw the paper down in disgust before burying her face in her hands and sitting back down. Harry knelt before her and wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

"What will Molly and Arthur say?" she whispered.

"They know us too well to believe anything written in the papers, Hermione. You know that."

"But it looks…so horrible."

"I know what it looks like - it looks disgusting, but people will believe what they want to believe and that's all there is to it," Harry whispered.

This reasoning comforted Hermione somewhat, before she remembered that they were supposed to have lunch with the Weasleys this afternoon. "What will we say?" She sounded mildly panicked.

"They're not going to think twice about it," was his firm reply.

On her way to get dressed, Hermione waved her hand at the newspaper, setting it aflame, again with wandless magic. Harry couldn't help but wonder at her power even when she was distressed.

"So lets go over this again," Harry said a few hours later, "You don't know the handwriting, there are no fingerprints or any form of magical signature, and we have no idea as to how they were delivered."

"Yes!" Hermione yelled, frustrated. "How is this possible? We're two of the smartest wizards today, or at least we have the most experience in all things weird and mysterious, and yet we can't even figure out who sent a pile of handwritten letters! The only thing I can think of is that Ron is the only person to call me 'Hermione Jane.' Not even my mother calls me that."

"That's pretty significant! I'd forgotten about that."

Hermione sighed. "We're running out of time before lunch. I think our brains are still pretty clouded. Let's say we drop the letters off at the Ministry on our way over so they can study them. I, obviously, cannot think of a single person who'd truly wish Ron or me harm."

"I hate to say it, but maybe we should leave separately. I'll drop the letters off to Leonard and then I'll meet you at the Burrow."

"It's for the best," she agreed. Hermione stood up and hugged Harry. "I'm sorry I was yelling before, I was just frustrated."

"I've seen you much worse, Hermione."

"Thanks, you're sweet," she said sarcastically, "I will say, though, if I have to be shacking up with someone weeks after my husband's death, I'm glad it's you," Hermione weakly attempted humor.

"Me, too!"

She turned her head to kiss Harry's cheek, but lost her balance slightly and ended up kissing the corner of his mouth. While only meeting briefly, Harry's lips certainly made an impression on Hermione. She inhaled quickly and pulled away, shocked at how such a small action could make her so aware of her lips, her fingertips.

Harry had stiffened immediately, despite a quiet urge to press his lips against hers properly. He couldn't see the expression on her face as she had abruptly turned away, apologized, and went to get her bag and wand so she could apparate to the Weasley's.

Hermione, however, had quickly glanced at Harry while pulling away and found that his eyes hid nothing. He, too, seemed bothered by his physical reaction to this accidental kiss.

They parted with a smile and a wave, Harry to the Ministry and Hermione to the Burrow.


End file.
